


A Fic To Change The World

by MarlaHectic



Series: F*ck Jotaká [2]
Category: Hadestown - Mitchell
Genre: Another Character Appears but it's kind of a surprise, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Hermes reference, Modern Setting, No beta we die like Eurydice, Self-Acceptance, Trans Character, as a form of writing I mean, canon complinant, fanfiction validation, gods my tags suck so much, orpheus being orpheus, sorry - Freeform, very explicit harry potter references, without actually naming the thing
Language: Español
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:20:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27431917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarlaHectic/pseuds/MarlaHectic
Summary: Orpheus is wondering Earth in our 21st Century when he found a young girl that it's in great need of being remembered how important creating can be......though maybe she can also help him(Here, sucking as summaries, as usual)This is a birthday present for ad ear friend of mind, hope she likes it
Relationships: Eurydice/Orpheus (Hadestown)
Series: F*ck Jotaká [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2004145
Kudos: 5





	A Fic To Change The World

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!  
> As I said, this is a B-Day present for a friend (September 31, so, as always with me, a bit late -sorryy-) because we were talking about fic-writing and how important it has been for many of us; specially in these dark times (not only talking about Covid here).
> 
> So, I wish you enjoy this and forgive all my quick tipper and non-native speaker mistakes,  
> Marla
> 
> Allons-y!

Orpheus had long ago forgotten how to measure time.  
He just knew civilizations come and go, him being the only constant. Well; him and the unbreakable will of human beings, that has helped them to get through the worst times over, and over again.  
Because, even though he had lost all hope for himself, he couldn't help but still see the world for what it could be, instead of what it was.  
And, more often than most cynics would like to admit, it eventually became that better imagined version. At least, up to some grade.

The former young man -now turned into a somehow immortal sad soul, forever wondering Earth, never to be reunited with the love of his life- was walking through the cold, wet London streets when a deep, desperate, quiet sob caught his attention from inside a cafeteria.  
He didn't know how, he didn't know why, but he knew he had to help the poor girl.  
And so he entered, way down to the almost ironically called CafeTown.

Arthemis stared at the dim light of her movile phone screen, trying not to believe what there could be read on it when a stranger sat in front of her.  
She analyzed him, unable of not being slightly suspicious of the mysterious man.  
He was ridiculously handsome, with sharp but yet tender features and porcelain skin. His brown hair was badly cut, though he somehow pulled it off; and his eyes...  
…his eyes were ancient, and yet full of a hope rarely seen these days in any human soul.  
The hostility that had always characterized her came out as an almost threatening question.  
“What are you doing here?”  
“I heard you cry, I don’t like to hear artists cry; or people, in general.” He corrected himself quickly and a bit abruptly, with the awkward look of someone who has just realized they had said something inappropriate.  
“I’m…I’m not an artist. Plus, how could you know?”  
He smiled, sadly.  
“I just know; it’s…complicated. But I know.” He frowned with concentration. “Writer?”  
“Well, I write, but only fanfiction…and I am kind of tired of hearing how it’s not Art.”  
“Is that why you were crying?”  
The girl was going to answer when she realized she was being way to open with a complete stranger. And, yet, she decided to keep being.  
If she couldn’t have her family, at least she’d have someone, as dumb (and dangerous) as it could be to trust a man she had never seen before.  
“No, I…look, the woman that wrote the books that helped me be brave enough to come out…she…well, basically said that I am not a real girl, woman.”  
He looked puzzled.  
“But you are.”  
“Yes, but…it’s hurts and it makes me angry, because she has hurt and disappointed many people and I’d love to, well, take those books from her, make them OURS.”  
“Then, do it. You ARE a writer, you can make words wake up and wake up other with them, take those books and make them what you, what SO MANY PEOPLE, need them to be. It’s on your hands now, only you can choose to be how you know you are.”  
It wasn’t an order, neither a criticism. He said it almost as if he was leading her in the head of a demonstration, with a special strength and some naivety, as if words could actually make a real change.  
And, somehow, she believed him.

A week later, Arthemis found herself in the same spot of the same Café, just to watch the same mysterious man came in again.  
She grinned, genuinely happy of the sight of this strange character with a high soothing voice.  
She had done it; she had started writing her own version of her childhood main support…  
…and the answered had been massively positive.  
“How do you know I was going to be here?” She asked a bit playfully.  
“Mr. Hermes told me.”  
She thought it was a metaphor and let it go.  
“Anyways, I did it…would you like to…read it?”  
He nodded and she handled him her phone, the screen filled with those words she had devoted her soul to.  
He fixed his eyes on it and, as he finished, he started to sing.  
It was the most astonishing song she had ever heard, almost a hymn.  
It wasn’t only about her story (though it was there); it was about living in the shadows and coming back to the calling of the bright light of hope, about using your strengths to make the world a better place, of not giving up, of not letting other define who you should be, about the power of all kinds of art, about dismissing whatever only served for hurting you, about love in all its forms and shapes…  
…it was a song about everything, a song that could make the world move in unimaginable ways.  
Everyone was staring at them, but the man didn’t seem to notice, as he openly cried and shook Arthemis’ hands.  
“Thank you, thank you for being you. I needed that song. I hope it helped you too.”  
With these words; he softly, gently, kissed her hands and left without further communication.

Orpheus looked directly to the woman in front of him in middle of the street, her eyes gliterring as if she hadn’t just came from The Underwold itself.  
“You did it again.”  
He smiled, wider than ever before.  
“I had help.”

And, with that, Orpheus and Euridice reunited in the first of what wer

**Author's Note:**

> Aaaaaaand that's it.  
> I hope you have liked it and, as always, all feedback, kudos and random comments,  
> Long live and prosperity,  
> Marla


End file.
